


Ache

by AZaz09



Series: Interplay [5]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, POV Elim Garak, Post-Canon Cardassia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZaz09/pseuds/AZaz09
Summary: Garak’s first year after the war
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Interplay [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576318
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Ache

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter one of Hunger

The Cardassian sun is hot. How I begged to be back under its glory again, now that I am here, it is too hot. It would be better in the shade, perhaps with a cold glass of rokassa juice. I imagine myself at one of the street-side cafes, sitting at a shaded table, sipping icy juice and nibbling sweet bread. I would watch the people of the city going about their day, laughing and gossiping together. The fantasy is broken when I stumble over loose bricks, and cut my leg slightly on a piece of twisted metal. 

Nothing is standing for several blocks, the once tidy homes and grand buildings were hit with Dominion bombs, and those that survived were brought down by the subsequent fire. Here and there I find small hidden shelters, and shabby tents that hint at an unseen population. I do my best to leave them as I find them. I am exhausted. My muscles ache in a way I have not experienced since my time at Bamarren, still I carry on digging through the fallen rubble with the rest of my assigned work crew.

In one corner we find an opening to a lower level under a section of fallen roofing. Kelas Parmak gathers the rest of the workers to scavenge what might be in the protected underground space. It has been a long time since we found any survivors, but there are always more bodies and possibly food or medication. 

As the leader of this team, Dr. Parmak assigns other workers to climb down into the dark opening. He is always careful to keep me away from closed in spaces, without comment. I am grateful. Another man might use these circumstances to enact some retribution, but he brings me to sort through the items the rest of team finds, and pats my hand gently. There is little to sort through. A few cans of fish have survived, burnt and dented, but still intact.

There is a pair of children’s shoes that, although a bit worn on the sole, could be used again. Shoes are always in demand. I wonder about the child that last pulled these dirty, blue leather shoes, over their feet. They are almost certainly dead. It is likely that everyone who knew them is dead. This neighborhood had only a handful of survivors. So many of us go unmourned; I recite a few words of the death chant, and carefully put the shoes into the box of items to be distributed the Paldar Sector tomorrow. 

* * *

There was a short story, I once happened upon in a Terran anthology, that circled around my mind for many years. The Monkey’s Paw, was a trivial cautionary tale. It featured a primate’s severed paw, and three wishes, granted at a great, and terrible price. The writing was light, intended only for entertainment; it suited me during long, lonely shifts in my empty shop. That frivolous bit of fiction became a jarring reality, as I stepped foot on Cardassia after the fire. My wishes were granted at a monstrous price. I wished to return home, to Cardassia, to be free of the Obsidian Order, and to be able to openly pursue Doctor Bashir. My wishes have all come to pass, with such misery and horror, that I can not bare to dwell too long on what was lost, to bring me here.

What is left of this place is unfamiliar. I dreamt of returning home, only to find Cardassia was no longer any sort of home. From the moment I arrived, I have been surrounded by death. The stinking bodies, that workers even a year later, continue to pull from the rubble, the slowly withering orphan children, left without food or shelter, the swirling ash, all that is left of both the cities and people that burned. 

* * *

When the sun begins to set, our work crew finishes for the day. The walk to Tolan’s little shed, that I now call home, is only 30 minutes. Kelas walks with me, arm in arm. “We need more antibiotics” he says, as though offering a shopping list. “Yes, I had hoped we would find some today, but tomorrow there should be a ship from the Federation.” I offer back. He nods, but looks worried. He tries to keep his little clinic stocked, but by the time off-world aid arrives, it has passed through too many hands. He only receives a small percentage of what he needs.

When we arrive at my door, he presses his palms to mine, momentarily, while looking at his feet. “I will be at the clinic tomorrow, then I have a meeting with Ghemor, but I would like to visit for breakfast, if you are amenable.” I agree enthusiastically and he says his goodbyes, then walks away into the darkness, leaving me alone with my demons. 

* * *

Cardassian mornings build slowly, the dust and smoke that fills the upper atmosphere filters the sun in a hazy red shroud. The door to Tolan’s shed did not close properly, even in Tain’s time, letting in what little light there is. It effectively ends my attempts at sleeping.

Kelas will be here soon, and I want to be dressed and ready for the day before he arrives. On my worst days, when I can not get out from my bed, and I argue with ghosts, he washes my face and hands, and feeds me spoonfuls of broth. To avoid his unnecessary coddling, I make all efforts to be a good host to him when I am able. He watches me closely, looking for any sign of need, and swoops in to nurse me, whenever he can. 

I wash my face with a few drops of water, collected from the runoff of my roof, and dress for the day in the warmer of my two outfits. I have two ration packs and I combine them with some oily canned fish, to make us breakfast. 

I decide to make tea, to accompany our feast. I have a small amount of red leaf tea and enough water rations to last a few days. The water has just finished boiling when I hear the soft crush of footsteps outside the door. Without proper security, and very little power, I have taken to sprinkling dead twigs and scraps of metal around the perimeter of the little garden that surrounds Tolan’s shed. It makes just enough noise to let me know when there is a visitor. 

Doctor Parmak is delicate. He was lean and graceful as a young man, working as Tain’s physician, but his time in the labour camp stiffened his joints and gave him a subtle limp. His once shiny black hair has greyed prematurity. Starvation has made his naturally slender frame gaunt. He is careful around me. His clothing is loose and modest, but I can see the scars that travel down his wrist and the pronounced bones of his face. He does not want me to know how much damage was done to him. I do not know if that is for my sake or for his. 

He walks slowly to my door. I can hear the unevenness of his steps. I make myself busy with our tea. Kelas is surprisingly comfortable in my presence, but he goes out of his way to avoid making eye contact. I try to accommodate him by always having something to keep my attention when he is here. It is the least I can do. He enters with a heartfelt greeting, which I return as I hand him his tea. I sit together with my only companion, a man who can scarcely stand the sight of me, and ready myself for the day. 

* * *

I had been here nearly two months before I was able to access a computer terminal. I found a number of messages from Julian. The first few were short and somewhat terse. He was annoyed that I left so suddenly. I admit, at that time, I gave no thought of what I was leaving behind. It was the same instinct of a mother, rushing toward her crying child. I went because I had no choice. Julian’s messages became pleading, he asked for some sign from me. I am ashamed that I worried him so much. But how could I answer his questions? His innocent queries of “how are you?” had no answer. 

His later messages were calm. He updates me weekly on the station, and his work. He wrote that he understood why I left and would wait for me. I tried several times to respond, but I could only stare at the blank screen, until my allotted time on the public terminal expired. 

In awhile he will lose interest in sending messages, and eventually he will find a more suitable partner. That is as it should be. I could never leave Cardassia, especially not now that she needs all of her children, and I could never ask him to come here. I imagine him often, during my exhausted fitful sleep. I see him in my little shed. He soothes my aches, and gently reprimands me for taking such poor care of my health. At other times I am visited by Tain, his tone is stern and angry, but he is dead and has no business counseling the living. I have become adept at ignoring him. I think perhaps I am going mad.

* * *

Several months before I left the station, Julian and I entered into courtship. I had a great deal of trouble deciphering his intentions during our earlier time together. From a Cardassian perspective, much of what we did would have been reserved for married couples. (Much of what we did would not have been done by Cardassians under any circumstances). Casual sex is uncommon, but not unheard of, although it us usually between adults that have no other contact.

We ate meals together, both privately and publicly. We often spent the night together, sleeping in the same bed, curled around each other like twisted vines. We occasionally would spend an enjoyable evening in each other’s company working on our own projects, he would diligently write his medical papers and I would finish a bit of hand sewing. 

All of these domestic scenes would certainly be saved for the last stage of courtship, at the very least. On the other hand, he never gave a name to what we were to each other. For reasons of security, I preferred to keep our associations discrete, and he seemed to feel much the same, for his own reasons. I assumed our time together was a brief and enjoyable glimpse, into a life I would never be allowed. 

When he returned from his curiously temporary expulsion, after his genetic enhancements were found out, he was confounding. Suddenly he wanted to build a serious relationship. He wanted a commitment. Tain was gone and along with him, the main obstacle to my open happiness. I silenced the voices in my head telling me this sentiment is dangerous and foolish, and began the first stage of courtship with my Doctor. 

He was, during those months, enough; more than enough. He was everything to me. For a time, he eclipsed even Cardassia. I imagined some future together. During my most optimistic moments I believed we could find a distant Federation planet where he would work as a doctor and I would, perhaps, work as a gardener. At other times I was pleased enough to spend the rest of my life on the frigid space station, if he was by my side. 

When Cardassia burned, my ephemeral happiness evaporated. That is the last bit of my suffering, the last of my three wishes. I can now pursue Julian openly. I could leave this torment, and return to the life I was building. I could return to the abundance of the Federation. I could return to the brilliant and kind doctor who, against all sense, loves me. I could be happy again, but I will not. I will stay here, breathing the dust and rot, living off scraps I scavenge from the destroyed homes of the dead. Slowly, brick by brick, rebuilding my world


End file.
